The next morning she wakes up well before dawn, Quell still fast asleep. Her womanhood is still very tender, though the shooting pains of fire don't burn through her when she moves. She eases out of her mate's grasp, quietly getting herself ready for the day without the help of her handmaid. The towel from last night has dried blood on it; she grabs a fresh one and pours on some more witch hazel, patting her tender bits with it and relieved when it comes back still white.

After donning a dark purple dress, she unbraids her hair, letting the still damp length of it loose to dry freely before...